


The Trouble with Dragon Hoards, Bloodline Curses, and Falling in Love or Something just as Foolish

by LuciferIsSatan



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-12-28 11:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21135956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciferIsSatan/pseuds/LuciferIsSatan
Summary: The Mountain is reclaimed, the dragon dead, and nobody seemed to notice how strange Thorin had been acting, except, of course, Bilbo.





	The Trouble with Dragon Hoards, Bloodline Curses, and Falling in Love or Something just as Foolish

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is mostly a warning that I wrote this entirely on my phone, where it too was also edited. I spent exactly 2 days on it rather than weeks so I apologize for all mistakes/mischaracterizations/grammar mishaps and so on. It was mostly just an idea I was playing with, and the rest was pretty secondary. - Its very much a word dump.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Erebor was everything it was claimed to be, and more.

Beautiful beyond measure, expansive in ways a hobbit could hardly quantify, with tunnels and wide rooms that trail on for what could truly be miles. The dust was something to get use to, the rubble pinching his feet, and cobwebs catching his hair, though its little quirks of neglect hardly took away the absolute vastness of something so ancient and yet so clearly once loved. It would be centuries before the treasury could possibly ever be organized again, and many years until Erebor would ever return to its original glory, something Bilbo mourns may never be in his own lifetime, but it was quite something to look forward to nonetheless.

The soft echos of his footsteps were haunting in these empty halls, where he would trail his fingertips into the divuts of the stone as he wandered by. Feeling the slide of layers of dirt, before he made proper contact to the earth underneath, looking desperately for that heartbeat each of his dwarves claim to feel. Reaching out with dirty palms flattening along the surface, as if to say, '_hello there, my dear. I am a friend, and I'm here to help._'

He doesn't know for sure if she's listening, or even knows he's there, but there is warmth here. There were love in these halls, and he will see to it that it returns if he can.

Sadness festers where he leaves, and surrounds the halls even among their joy. That, despite the stories he has heard about this mountain, the mournful tales and wistful night weavings of this grand relic of their time; Thorin seemed to not care for.. any of it.

Well, that's not _entirely_ true, Bilbo amends, but it's hard to describe as anything else.

As soon as Smaug fell from the sky above laketown, as soon as he set eyes on the mountain of gold before him, he just.. did not seem to care. There was no love on his face, no excitement, no joy. He seemed.. tired. Bilbo had seen the grief touch his face, and before he could even hope to think, he reached out and squeezed the dwarf kings hand. Thorin blinked, as if startled from a stuper before his eyes flickered to his side, finding his small hobbit companion standing there with concern, and when they locked eyes he- he smiled.

No teeth, just the corners of his lips upraised, all regal and simple and the warmth in his eyes exuded a calm Bilbo had yet to see since their journey's start. Thorin carried a weight about him for so long, it became instinctual after the years passed that he seemed almost lost without it, opting to replace that weight with something just as heavy as they very quickly began the reparations for the mountain.

Numbered at just a measly fourteen, the task was an insurmountable one. The concern became one of rest, of what they could salvage, checking old stores, see what was still of use and determine where to truly begin. A few suggested the treasury, though Thorin was greatly reluctant to be apart of the crew involving dealing with the dragons hoard.

Balin had spoken at great length of the importance of locating the Arkenstone, and a whole great deal of nonsense of birth right and Thorin truly being recognized as king with it. Thorin argued that his blood and success at reclaiming the mountain should be enough.

It was strange, as Bilbo finished his food, elbowing Bofur away from his leftover stew, how reluctant Thorin was to find the stone all of a sudden.

Thorin's desire to locate the Arkenstone seemed to vanish entirely, once he set his eyes upon the hoard; it became almost like an afterthought he seemed to want left buried as they focused on fixing the entrance; or rather, what was left of it that hadn't been destroyed by the dragon. Others of the Company were sent off as well, under instruction to find some good sleeping quarters close by, and to try getting some proper space set up for a time.

It was only happenstance that they should notice the fires beginning to form in Dale, where before morning came a traveler from the wreckage came to greet them at the entrance. Thorin was there and greeted Bard in kind, who informed them of King Thranduil's plan to take what he claimed was theirs by force.

Bilbo felt his own shackles rising in panic at Bards warning, but Thorin took him for his word and kept his. The relief Bard exuded was palpable, graciously he thanked the King for staying true and vanished with promise of bringing more men their way in the short future.

Thorin made sure to have his dwarves begin on a sizable arch to make access a little easier, while Brothers 'Ur focused on trying to create a functioning door.

It wasn't long after before the men returned and Thorin instructed Kili and Fili to assist them, while Thorin stopped the elves trailing behind in the tracks of men. It felt like the rising of what would have been a disastrous argument, as Bilbo could plainly see they were heavily armed and itching for some sort of conflict. Thorin gestured for Bilbo to follow him out to speak. Bilbo didn't much appreciate feeling as if he has innumerable ready arrows pointed at him: but he trusted Thorin.

"You can have your gems, elf," Thorin had announced before the elf-king could get in a word in edge wise, "but there are conditions."

Thranduil opened his mouth to give what could have been a truly scathing reply, but Thorin continued without pause.

"You help these men rebuild and I will return what is yours freely. Give aide. That's all I'm asking." Bilbo watched for a dumbfounded moment as Thranduil lost his words, before his eyes caught something a little beyond their shoulders, and nodded tersely instead. 

Aide from the Iron Hills came not too long after. The horizon filling with armed soldiers with numerous guild workers trailing behind. Carts by the dozens filled with workers and tools, carriages covered in preserved foods, medical supplies, herbs, and Thorin was on top of all of it. Bilbo followed with eager steps, watching in awe the exiled prince from their doomed journey don his jagged crown as king. How Thorin effectively maneuvers carriges around, sprouting off orders by the pairs, working his fair share of getting everyone in and set up around the mountain. Thorin was bouncing from Lord and Lady alike, creating reconstruction plans among the groups of guilds piling in, and working on seperation of order. Tents were very quickly set up just inside the mountain entrance, further from the elves and men, but with them they shared resources on Thorins behest, and things stayed civil.

Bilbo assured himself things are going _well_. Everything was good, had been good, is getting better, and yet - despite all the wonderful things happening, despite the start of a new begnning and the end of a horrible chapter, there was a..- slight dilemma Bilbo was facing.

Thorin refused to leave his side.

Now, while this was not the worst thing in all of Middle Earth, goodness _certainly not_. Bilbo was a.. was a private person. He liked a bit of alone time. Hardly seems an outrageous thing to ask for, but Thorin has been taking Bilbo attempting to walk away so _personally_.

And despite this calm there is a.. _oh_, how to put it? _Possessiveness_ about the whole ordeal. Since that moment Bilbo reassured him, Thorin had to be physically pried away from the hobbit, but even then for small periods of time. Bilbo felt confused about the whole ordeal, and truly even seemed to be the only one who has even bothered to _notice_! No strange looks, no comments, nor jabs or jokes. Most of his company cannot even spend a great deal of time with him before Thorin pulls him away to somewhere else, regardless of whether or not the conversation was even finished; let _alone_ how Thorin behaves towards dwarves not from the company that _dare_ be within several feet of him. 

At first it seemed so silly, but after two weeks of nonstop problems caused because of a dwarf drawing too near, Bilbo was at his wits end. He _wanted_ to help! But how can he help with reconstruction if Thorin held him practically prisoner at his side? Bilbo couldn't pry himself away for longer than it takes for him to use the restroom and no longer. Sleep was taken with Bilbo close, his sleeproll no further than a foot, and Bilbo wasnt even sure what would happen should beds finally become a possibility.

Thorin was- he was normally so calm. He was truly a hardworking king, and after the reclaiming of Erebor, he was truly looked up to as a legend. An exiled Prince returning to desolate land. He was admired, and sought after, and stayed busy, but he'd _only go_ if Bilbo stayed by his side. It was as if Thorin could not bare to have the hobbit out of his sight, and Bilbo was beginning to worry that perhaps Thorin believed he'd be in danger should he not have the dwarf king within arms reach.

Thorin never offered explanation.

Just that he requested Bilbo stay with him, and Bilbo being so painfully unable to say no.

Not when this is something he'd wanted for so- _so_ long now. Maybe not to such an extreme extent of course, but how could he force himself to create a barrier when he'd never imagined he'd ever have to make one? When for months of travel he dreamed of how Thorin would look when he saw the expanse of his kingdom he worked so hard to reclaim? Bilbo has the absolute honour to watch each little expression as Thorin thrums about the history of the mountain, takes him to forgotten caves and empty rooms rich with history and stories beyond what Bilbo has ever even imagined. He gets to eat by his side, feel welcomed, and cherished, and needed; and even with its suffocation, Bilbo was struck by that little warm neediness of being wanted.

Though, even despite this, Bilbo just cannot shake something being wrong. He likes the attention, yes, but- it's very sudden in a lot of ways. Very dangerous in others.

It really truly came to a head when Gandalf came with warnings of Orcs. He expressed that they seemed to be congregating in Gundabad, but as of yet do not appear to be on the move. He warned them that dark things are stirring in the air and for all of them to prepare accordingly. Though, in light of all of this, Gandalf fortunately assure that they have time yet, from what he'd gathered, to fortify themselves before any attack may happen.

It was a meeting, then.

Bilbo was awfully tired of them, though Thorin insisted he be there.

Where this time around, Thorin had been summoned to the camps to join the wizard, the elf-king and dragon-slayer. Where Gandalf seemed to be under the clear impression Thorin was going to be a great deal more difficult to convince than he actually ended up being; so a plan was easily made and agreed upon, with solutions set and ready, to which hours passed and Thorin, tired from hours of working to hours of chatting, was ready to leave.

Gandalf had kept his eye on Bilbo for much of these discussions, and when he attempted to pull the hobbit aside, he seemed to be almost expecting the snap of Thorin's hand on his wrist before it even happened.

"We're _leaving_." Was all Thorin said, though his voice was hard and cold, his eyes steady, with his hand wrapped around the wizards wrist, hovering an inch above Bilbo shoulder.

"Then allow me to accompany you," was the Wizards reply, his brow cocked. "Bilbo is a _good friend_ of mine, King Thorin, and I won't have you forget that."

Thorin seemed about ready to growl something before Thranduil piped in.

"Ah, so it is the hobbit then." Bilbo glanced over to the elf, who was lounging in his seat, unbothered, though his face was piqued with interest, eyeing the small creature with a newfound curiosity.

"I had my suspicion," Gandalf responded rather vague, keeping his gaze unwavering from the dwarfs, before deliberately and kindly, pulling his hand away. "After what you had informed me of the gold, it seemed almost obvious."

"Is something the matter?" Bilbo glanced between the elven king and Gandalf, eyes flickering warily.

"Nothing bad," Gandalf hummed, "Just something.. unexpected."

Bilbo didn't know what to say in response, but Thorin seemed to believe the conversation was over and grabbed the crook of the hobbits elbow and led him out. Bilbo had a million questions he kept behind clenched uncertain teeth, but had no means of expressing them. Not when Thorin looked as if a haze had fallen over his eyes, distracted, upset. He kept looking to Bilbo, at the spot Gandalf almost touched, and there was an anger there the hobbit couldn't describe.

It was as if the strange events from that night had offset a serious paranoia buried in the dwarf. Thorin was known to show affection through simple touch; a hand on a back, a pat on a shoulder or cheek, fingertips on wrists and the backs of his hands against arms. Thoughtless, simple, subtle. They progressed. Bilbo felt like he was constantly being lead from one place to another. Thorin made it almost like a unspoken rule of having a hand against his lower back, a grip on his arm, the back base of his neck. His shoulder had the weight of hands unmoving, as if Bilbo would somehow completely vanish if Thorin wasn't touching some part of him.

It had gotten simply outrageous.

And Thorin-

He was being so _kind_ about it. As impossible and annoying as it felt and equally sounded. Thorin.. - always listened when Bilbo spoke, laughed along to his stories and made sure all of his hobbitish needs were met. They were in no means in a position to have grand feasts, but Thorin consistently took smaller portions to make sure Bilbo never went to sleep hungry; spared blankets to keep the chill at bay, gave him his overcoat when they're outside and the wind is harsh. He just - he didn't want Bilbo out of his sight. It's all he seemed to want. He requested nothing but his presence, and after all Thorin had been through and as little as Thorin has asked before, Bilbo was unwilling to fight him on it. Bilbo didn't know what boundaries to set, or even if he really wanted them set to begin with. He was confused and conflicted and for just a short time, he wanted to get away.

So he did.

Bilbo will put up with enough, but after a certain point it gives to be a little selfish. He waited until Thorin was fast asleep, listening to the soft snores of his companions and company, counting down the seconds, anxious and unable to rest. He use to do this all the time on their journey, when he wanted a moment alone to smoke and not hold conversation. Oftentimes slipping past whomever was on watch to look around the forest or field they slept, pick some flowers and watch the night sky.

He did it now, hearing Thorins breath even out, as Bilbo stared up at the stone ceiling with a bit of guilty relief. Slipping on the ring.

The world around him turned to the haze it gave when he became a ghost to the world. He sat up quietly, looking around before he was confident his trick hasn't been noticed, before slipping from his covers and traipsing between sleepy outstretched arms and entanged legs. He traveled the dark corridors to the short walk to the main gates of Erebor. By now fixed up to the best of their current ability, clearly more for function than aesthetics as they're waiting on the Stonewrights from Ered Luin to finish their journey here.

Bilbo stepped out with little grief, before taking the half hour long trek down to Dale where fires were still burning, slipping through tents with men and elves alike for their later shifts and watches. Bilbo traveled to the routes he remembered, until he saw a hatted shadow pull from the largest center tent, grumbling to himself.

Bilbo quickly pulled the ring from his finger as he caught up to his friends side.

"Out for a stroll?"

Gandalf had startled a bit, looking down to his side in pleasant surprise. "Oh!" he chuckled, "Bilbo Baggins, there you are. Ah," Gandalf did a momentary look around with an easy smile, "little late, don't you think, to be out without your keeper?"

Bilbo frowned at that, keeping up the pace as Gandalf walked a few tents down, reaching for the ajar flap.

"I have no keeper," he replied instead of what he was thinking, obscure and confused as it was, "just a rather clingy friend."

"Clingy is too soft a word," Gandalf pushed through the opening, holding the flap aside for Bilbo to walk in beside him. They emerged into a simple little room, with a single cot and two chairs. Gandalf went to sit, as he continued, "I had my worries about this journey, but I do suppose this is a preferable outcome."

"Well there _was_ a dragon waiting at the end of it," Bilbo responded simply enough, joining him on the opposite chair. "But you seem to be the only one who has acknowledged.. well, Thorins rather strange behavior. You know something, don't you?"

Gandalf pulled his pipe out from his innermost cloak pocket, spending a moment or two in thought as he prepped the end.

"I believe I know, yes." Gandalf said after a long while, "but I do not know why or how it is possible. It simply happened, and simply is, and that is that."

"Mind telling me what it is you're speaking so obtusely about?"

"My dear Bilbo," Gandalf chuckled, "and here I thought you liked riddles."

"I think I'm rather getting a sour aftertaste with them as of late," Bilbo sighed, feeling a bit ill-tempered but not too terrible. "I just- I don't have time to be alone anymore."

"So in your scarse time to be alone, you sought out company?"

"I seek advice, actually," Bilbo rubbed at his eyes, almost out of habit, and almost out of frustrated desperation. "I don't know what to do. I don't know why I cannot be alone without him. Why he's behaving like this. Is it a dwarf custom I simply never learned?"

"No, rather a _Durin_ curse nobody wishes to discuss." Bilbo blinked at him a moment, before frowning.

"In Rivendell, you were speaking with Lord Elrond. You talked of a madness?"

"You overheard?"

"I was talking with Thorin not too far away. Sound travels far around there, I found." Gandalf regarded Bilbo a long moment, before placing the pipe between his lips, contemplative.

"Well, you overheard correctly " he said after another moment, "a madness lies on the line of Durin. His Grandfather, Thror, fell victim to the thralls of gold, attracting the dragon all those years ago. Thrain hadn't fully succumbed, but he was ill. He allowed his father to commit unspeakable atrocities in the name of riches, many Thorin isn't aware of and I do not mean to tell him." He hummed, a bit distracted, "It is in his blood to hoard greedily, obsessively. I was not aware, however, that this did not primarily mean wealth."

Bilbo blinked, uncertain. "I do not believe I follow."

"Oh come now, Bilbo." Gandalf twisted his pipe between his fingers, "how would _you_ describe Thorins behavior towards you?"

_possessive_

Bilbo chewed on the inside of his cheek, staring at his hands on his lap, tugging on the inseam of his pants by his knee.

"It truly isn't all bad," Gandalf began, humming, "if his obsession isn't with coin. A hobbit is much kinder and softer than stone, I'm sure he has found."

Bilbo was at a loss for words, and Gandalf was awful clear. "I've been around dwarves a long time, my friend, and Thorin has never been very subtle by dwarf standards. The madness that rests on a hoard of a dragon is no small disease, including the vein of madness Thorin is already susceptible to. It was outweighed, it seems, or misdirected even, by what he felt for you. The sickness that the dragon left sought home in Thorins chest, and amplified between those feelings he harboured for riches beyond measure, or you, and found one wanting. Although I am, uncertain, unfortunately on how to fix this myself, perhaps a.. wake up call of sort would do the trick."

"What sort of wake up call?" Bilbo ventured, a bit desperately. Gandalf looked him over a long moment, chewing on the end of his pipe, smoking thoughtlessly.

"Hobbits are folks of simple and small pleasures. The leader of my order would go so far as to call hobbits frivolous hedonists, but I would think it not so obtuse." Gandalf exhaled through his nose, smoke evaporating in air. "I should think a simple and small pleasure ought to do the trick."

Bilbo left the tent some odd minutes later, face warmer than it felt when Smaug blasted fire by his feet. Not even sure if the advice given was very good at all.

It took a few days to build himself up to it.

It was truly _terrible_ advice. He's certain of it.

Who advices someone to- _to-!_ Bilbo has both hands on his reddened face, puffing on his pipe frantically, staring off at nothing in particular. Thorin is close by, looking at him with concern but too deep in an important conversation to pull away just yet.

Bilbo has yet to give Thorin a straight answer on his own behavior since his return from the tent. Bilbo got little sleep that night, and it was prevalent that morning when Thorin quickly took in the dark circles under his eyes and the tension between his brows.

Bilbo couldn't shake the feeling of taking advantage of someone who wasn't in complete control of his actions. Thorin was being _influenced_ by this madness. By these pretty stones around them sat on for years by a dragon. The haze hasn't left Thorin since he entered the mountain, being fed by the sickness there and fuelling whatever- whatever he must have felt for Bilbo at some point. Perhaps it was simply admiration? Amplified into something unrecognizable.

If Thorin was _so obsessed_ romantically, then why hadn't he been kissed? No roaming hands, no outward displays of affection any different than that of a good friend, (albeit, one he is apparently obsessed with.)

Gandalfs answer to all of that was, in essence, '_hobbits are known for breeding like rabbits so use that magic and get to it!_' which was, for one, _insulting_, and two, _completely out of Thorins range to consent._

It left a bad taste in his mouth.

Besides, Bilbo- if something like that were to happen-

Bilbo sighed.

If something like that were to happen, he wanted it to come naturally. Not - not like he had to, but rather wanted to. And he wants to, Bilbo felt the burning in his neck, goodness of _course_ he does. His eyes scanned up to look back at the king; his hair long and perfectly braided, his sharp jaw, and pointed nose. Bilbo had spent hours admiring his crooked smiles, and cocked brows, his broad wide shoulders and large hands. He was stunning, and gorgeous, and thoughtful, and concise if not bullheaded but-

There had to be a right answer to this somewhere.

Bilbo debated simply vanishing one night, and just preparing for the impossibly long trek back to the Shire some multiple times. Yet with the invasion happening soon, the mountain preparing for an onslaught, Bilbo would not abandon them.

He thought about arguing with Gandalf until he was blue in the face, talking in perfect circles until the wizard relents to _actually_ create some sort of cure: because honestly, there _has_ to be a spell, or concoction, or- or something!

Bloodline curses cannot be _all_ that uncommon, surely? 

Bilbo tapped his fingers against his leg, watching Thorin take some parchment from an red bearded dwarf with a strong hunch in his back, and sighed into his hands. He _could_ simply put up with just... the attention. If that's even the right word for what was happening. It wasn't so bad, truly, but the idea of losing all that time to hide and read and sit in silence was a maddening thought indeed. He liked company as much as anyone else, but his need for space, even just occasionally, was a strong one.

Thorin can still hold conversation, is still aware of himself and his surroundings, and isn't truly impeded by this madness. But Bilbo sees that haze there, the lostness of it, and it feels like violating a trust should he pursue this option.

Maybe he's misunderstanding something, maybe Gandalf has it all wrong. Is Thorin still in control of his actions? Looking at him now he isn't acting like a madman- perhaps Bilbo is overthinking.

He doesn't know what to do, or even how to proceed. It's only fortunate, or rather perhaps a bit unfortunate, that after Thorin is finished with what he was doing, returning to Bilbo's side, do they have an ample opportunity arise for Bilbo to try.

He doesn't.

He doesn't the next few times they're alone either, not when Thorin is speaking so openly and softly about his childhood, or reading the runes they pass by, teaching Bilbo a thing or two about pronunciation, and he's so close sometimes Bilbo could easily push up on his toes and kiss him.

He can't.

Thorin is busy endlessly. Enough so that Balin has come to Bilbo on numerous occassions with food and insistence that Thorin gather sleep, as he repeatedly ignores those requests. Where the Throne room was finished being cleaned up and out, the space above the throne an empty reminder of the gem buried under years of dragon rest, and Thorin being talked out of removing the space entirely.

There wasn't even time to try anything, even _if_ Bilbo agreed it'd be the best case scenario, which it _isn't_. His uncomfortable dreams these past few nights be _damned_. Thorin is busy being a king and leader, the mountain requires too much attention, and Thorin may be fixated with staying close but he isn't _actually_ attempting anything too forward and therefore, attempting to sleep with his dear friend was absolutely an atrocious thing to consider.

It was settled then.

It had been settled for a few days since, until Bilbo woke up one morning, his breath short and lower belly burning. There was a hand in his hair, soft, light, thoughtless. He blinked bleary eyes away from the images of dark hair and flushed skin, to see through the low candle light, Thorin sitting cross legged at his side, staring at some parchment or another against the ground. His quill was moving, its shadow dancing against the soft glow over his face, as he felt Thorins hand raise again and smooth out the hair from Bilbos sweaty forehead. Thorin realized quickly he was being looked at, returning an even glance as he placed down his quill.

"Are you feeling alright?" Thorins voice was barely above a whisper, "you sounded in pain."

Bilbo's mouth was cotton, confused, and then just as quickly mortified.

_Why did we kill Smaug,_ Bilbo thought deliriously. _When he could have done us one better and killed me._

Bilbo glanced over to Thorins makeshift desk he must have left to try and comfort what he must assume was some nightmare, Bilbo felt like the absolute scum of Middle Earth. He nodded, slowly, "bad dream," and left it at that.

It's a punishment, Bilbo is certain after a while, intermixed with terrible advice from wizards, having someone he admired so much clinging to his very hip, and getting the communal miner showers fixed up. Eventually plumbing will be prepared in homes, but this was going to have to do for now, and suddenly all Bilbo sees much of anymore are naked sweaty dwarves and Bilbo put his absolute _foot down_ on joining in thank you _very much!_ He's seen _enough_ naked dwarrows on the journey to the mountain.

But showers are often shared no matter what time of the day it was and Bilbo eventually couldn't stand to smell himself any longer and relented. But Thorin is there, because he will always be around, and Bilbo is familiar with his body in a lot of way travel companions will. His body littered in bruises and engraved with scars from battles new and old; He was toned in the ways that showed his years of wear and damage. Broad, strong, trailing down to-

Bilbo caught himself staring almost the exact second Thorin realized he was being stared at.

He glared at his feet, scrubbing himself furiously and leaving abruptly with wet hair and a sour mood.

It was the first day Thorin didn't immediately seek him out, and as Bilbo ran his fingers through his wet curls, willing them to dry, that maybe this entire mess was a lot more misconstrued than he originally believed.

But Thorin did find him again, and with him were an assortment of items he offered. Two of which were beads.

Now, Bilbo wasn't _completely_ dull. If he understood anything about Dwarvish cultures whatsoever, is that beads and braids on dwarves were sacred. He didn't know what the entire meaning was, but it was clearly major when Thorin asked to braid them in.

And, really, how could Bilbo tell him no?

It was only a couple beads, right?

Bilbo had an opportunity then too, as the pair of them were settled in some quiet space away from the world outside. There were even a few candles, and Thorin was running his fingers through his hair, looking for the right spot for a bead to sit and not lie hidden. It felt, _good_. It felt almost right.

Thorin never told him what the beads meant, but Bilbo decided it must mean something of the vein of "dwarf friend" because the general regard of dwarrow towards him has lightened and grew considerably since; (Though he'd be loath to call any dwarfs demeanor as cold.)

Time moved on.

They've disturbed dust and ash while traversing through the ruins of an untouched old watchtower. Thorin had pulled some rubble away not too long ago and the pair of them went exploring a bit. There was a whole side of the mountain nobody has had access to in some time, but Thorin knew these halls. Unburying the memories as his eyes traced forgotten figures of his past that only he could see, trailing towards the worn down steps of the spiraling staircase upward, traveling the corridors like ghosts in the dawnlight. They eventually made it to the top, pushing the heavy stone door open with effort, before letting it slide shut behind them. They stepped out to be greeted with a wide balcony, not too large as they trail towards the edge overlooking the far east side of the mountain. In the distance to the west they could see just the edge of Dale before the rest vanished behind the sheer cliffs of the the Lonely Mountain. Before them were the rolling stones and jagged cliffs that dove into the thick shrub forests, expanding as far as the eye could possibly see. It was a little chilly this high up, the winds a bit hard but it felt good, he supposed, with the sun against his face.

There were old scortch marks along the balcony, but they faded through time, as Thorin took a seat against the bench there, looking out. He pulled out his pipe as soon as Bilbo sat down to join him.

They sat in silence for a good long while.

"I have such..- far away memories of this place," Thorin spoke rather hush, privately, after he finished packing his pipe, "it almost feels like a dream now. That, perhaps, I'm not truly in this moment, or even sitting here with you."

Thorin thumbed at the stem of his pipe, looking at the engravings sort of like an afterthought. "I worry often, each morning, that I'll wake up and still be in my cot in the Blue Mountains. Exiled prince to a kingdom I could never possibly dream of returning to."

Bilbo blinked at that, accepting the pipe when offered. "What do you mean?"

Thorin inhaled through his nose, exhaling as he said, "I dreamed of this mountain since the very day it was taken from us. I did not think I knew whether or not we would succeed, or really get as far as we did. If I'd ever see my home again. It was a fools quest, but even then-" Thorin relaxed a bit, looking towards his hobbit companion, "we had the right sort of fools for it."

"Fool's that looked more like grocers than burglars, yes?" Thorin snorted at that, taking his pipe back in kind.

"I misread you," Thorin smiled then, "I will never do that again."

"It wasn't a bad read," Bilbo smiled too, "I was certainly more a grocer than I was a burglar, and I was truly neither."

Thorin sat in comfortable silence for a few seconds before he asked, "What are you, then?"

Bilbo hummed, "What do you mean?"

"Do you have an occupation, or rather, had one before all of this?"

Bilbo shrugged, "Ah, well. I'm a landlord." Bilbo relaxed into his seat, "My father owned a lot of property he had inherited from his father and his father before him. I mostly collect land tax and handle much of that for the Thane. But, as head of the Baggins name and house, I lord over the lands of the Baggins family. It's.. hardly an occupation," Bilbo said after a moment, "I mostly did paper work once every few months, and filed forms for my relatives, collected their tax, took ten percent for my trouble of filing for them including dues. I submitted the final ninety percent of it towards the Thane, who used the funds to fuel trade and pay workers, and so on. I'm giving a very condensed idea of it all, of course, but it was easy. To be clear, in comparison to all this, it is rather inexpensive to be a hobbit."

"Is that so?"

Bilbo nodded, "Even the poorest hobbit has a home and a full pantry, living comfortable lives. Homelessness, famine, and poverty are concepts we try to keep eradicated in the Shire. I'm fortunate of my position, where instead of farming I got to garden, read my books, and so on. It was a very simple life."

Thorin nodded along, pipe to his lips as he asks, "do you still miss your home? In the Shire?"

Bilbo leaned back a bit, thoughtful. "Truthfully? Everyday. Or sometimes not at all."

Thorin looked to him curiously, to which Bilbo elaborated. "I think about my round green door, my books, my fathers old armchair and my mother dishes. I miss my garden often. I use to grow the largest tomato's in the Shire and it was a proud feat. I think of how simple and straight forward the Shire is. How untainted by the outside world it is. So unaware."

Bilbo slowed, feeling a weight in his chest. "I have many people in the Shire I love, but- I was never particularly close with many. Hobbits are busybodys at the best, and should I return? Something contaminated and saturated in the stark harshness of the world? Would they even want me back? Would the Shire feel.. wrong? I cling so much to what home is to me, and I'm afraid of returning to realize that it's just not there anymore."

Thorin was truly looking at him now, his eyes dark and deliberate. Bilbo chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling a bit foolish.

"Sorry, I'm not sure that made a lot of sense. I rather like this mountain, you know. I love the company, being with my friends that I have been through so much with, laughed with, cried. I've never felt closer to a group of people in my life, and I am- so unprepared to let you all go."

"You would not have to." Thorin said then, and when Bilbo caught his gaze, Thorin looked so earnest. "Leave. You would not have to leave, if you do not desire to."

Bilbo smiled at that, "I just don't know what I want right now."

"There is not a soul in this mountain that would not be greatful to keep their little hobbit champion near," Thorin inclined his head, "the dragon riddler, hero of Erebor, after all you worked for and accomplished, why not stay?"

"You're only saying that because you won't leave my side."

Thorin smiled at that, "Where else should I be if not where I belong?"

Bilbo felt warmth fill his chest, rising up his neck and just barely touching his already flushed cheeks. "You don't mean that."

"I do," Thorin reached down and placed a hand on Bilbo's arm, "you have proven yourself beyond what even my own kin would give. When I called upon my allied Kingdoms, I left only numbered 13 dwarves, and a hobbit. I would never have traded all the armies in Middle Earth for any of my Company, most of all I would have traded nothing for you. For when I called upon them, they answered, and you followed behind with absolutely no direction nor honour at stake, and you alone have proven unwavering bravery and loyalty that even much of my own kin could not match. You, who had everything to lose and nothing to truly gain, as we both know you did not follow to gather riches."

Bilbo huffed, feeling flustered, but Thorin wasn't finished.

"What you have accomplished," he voice dropped a bit, determined, "what you have given to this quest, what you have given _me_, could never be quantified or expressed in.. in simple forms of gratitude. The common tongue is..- insufficient. I do not believe what you have done may ever be given the appreciation you fully deserve. The little hobbit from the homely west, traveled far beyond the mountains, faced orcs, goblins, trolls, and all manner of unpleasant beasts. Toe to toe with the greatest calamity of our time, unflinching, unwavering, simply because you felt it was the right thing to do."

Thorin leaned down, cupping the hobbits cheek in his palm. "You risked your very well being for this quest on the simple belief that you desired to do good. Not for honour, not for unspeakable wealth, not for pride, but to do good. To show the mountain and my dwarves that you have stood by my side throughout all these tribulations, and now all I desire is to stand by yours."

Bilbo felt brazen.

Thorins hand on his cheek was impossibly warm, his sharp blue eyes boring down on him. Bilbo thoughtlessly reached his own hand up, pressing his palm in turn against the kings cheek, feeling the ever growing stubble fleshed out into a nearly proper beard by now, his thumb dragging over his sharp cheek bone. This felt impossibly intimate. Bilbo didn't know what he was feeling.

Bilbo could hear Gandalfs voice in the back of his head, a reminder; but Bilbos eyes flickered down to Thorins lips, thin and barely parted and with foolish impulsive _dangerous_ want, he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against the corner of Thorins mouth.

He didn't have a chance to even pull away.

Hardly considered if he even wanted to.

Thorins hands snapped to the base of Bilbos head, fingers interlacing in short curly hair, adjusting his own position to angle proper, closer, harder-. One moment Bilbos lips were pressed again the side of his mouth, the next he could taste the smoke on Thorins tongue, parted and willing, lips chapped but it was everything he wanted and nothing as he was expecting. Fireworks didn't go off, shocks were not exchanged through parted lips, and no clarity given. It was all heat and need as he accepted the brush of tongue against teeth willingly. Bilbo's hands subconsciously dragging up to hold the dwarfs jaw, pressing his face impossibly close, practically upturning his nose against the dwarfs cheek by the absolute force of it.

It felt entirely like the break of a fragile dam, water gushing through the cracks to finally drain forward. An absolute flood of need and desperation pooled in the pit of his stomach as soon as one of Thorins hands reached down and grabbed Bilbo by the hip, pulling him upright and onto his lap. Bilbo fumbled over their entangled legs a bit awkwardly, but settled with his knees on either side of Thorin's hips, mouths never breaking contact with teeth against lips and fingers digging into the softness of his lovehandles. Bilbo jerked forward, feeling rough hands grab his rear, an outrageous little noise yanked from his throat to which Thorin swallowed greedily.

Hands wandered, Bilbo trailing his mouth away where Thorin took the opportunity to press his mouth in every place he could possibly reach. Holding onto the hobbit as he traced the patterns of freckles on his cheeks, trailing his mouth against the crook of the hobbits jaw to his ears, earning weak little huffs. Feeling the squirm between his palms and against his lap, he tucked his face against Bilbos neck, jerking his hips up to meet the hobbit, whom, to Thorins great delight and Bilbos embarrassment, was _noisy_. Bilbo couldn't think straight. This wasn't how it was suppose to go, his thoughts were completely out of order, delirious; wasn't this suppose to be the other way around?

Bilbo was _shaking_.

His breath was short, his senses quickly overrun by need and want and the feeling of heat pressed against his inner-thigh was making breathing an absolute chore.

He didn't know at all what he was doing other than that he absolutely _desperately_ wanted to do it.

His fingers caught up to his brain when Thorin relented pressing up against him, turning back to draw Bilbo into another searing kiss, tongue against parted teeth and minds drawing blanks. He moved deftly, tugging on buttons and clasps and struggling with belts until a whine left his mouth and Thorin was in no position to deny him anything.

Thorin became too unwilling to wait, scooping Bilbo up into his arms and flipping them, pressing the hobbit down against the bench, lying flat on his back as Thorin gave up trying to remove his layers against his chest and focused more firmly on his belt buckles against his hips. Yanking the clasp open, his hands were swatted away by an impatient hobbit, who quickly tore at his buttons, a mouth meeting his own as a hand slipped into the front of his trousers and found exactly what it was looking for.

Thorin gasped against Bilbo mouth, his body momentarily tensing at the suddenness of it all, but Bilbo pulled him back into himself, practically a puddle, falling to rest on his elbows where Bilbos rather inexperienced hands proved themselves to be quick learners.

Thorin was gasping against Bilbo lips when the hobbit seemed to realize he was murmuring against his skin, breathless and needy, his mouth leaving a trail of wet kisses where they could reach, his voice hoarse and husky as he breathed out, "_-my hobbit, mine- my own-_" followed by a string of curses Bilbo couldn't pronounce nor knew. There were words and prayers on his lips, phrases Bilbo would learn one day but for now sounded like sweet nothings.

Thorin jerked his hips forward, almost dislodging Bilbos grip on him, reaching down to press against the strain between the hobbits own thighs, who cried out not nearly as quietly. Legs jerking forward a bit where Thorin pushed them trembling apart, settling there with purpose. He pulled Bilbos hand away, pinning them above his head and against the chilly stone behind him. He gathered both of his wrists into one, then using his free hand, he made quick work of Bilbos many _absolutely outrageous amount of buttons_, yanking them down with no care to where they've been tossed.

Thorin couldn't stop staring.

All flushed face, hooded eyes, legs parted and arms pinned, the hair there was just as curly, golden, and honey rich as the top of his head, beautiful and flushed and needy and Thorin did not have it within him to admire too long. Not when Bilbo was squirming the way he was, not when he needs-

Bilbo pulled one hand free from its constraint, hand snapping down to push down on the pants still riding the dwarfs hips. He was able to get it only so far before Thorin was already against him again, pressing, rocking-

Heat _poured_ between their moving bodies. Scratching and clinging, mouths searching, adjusting, pulling tugging. All teeth, fingers at the roots, shaking, and-

"_please-_" Bilbo panted, nails digging against the dwarfs arms, "_I need-_"

_I need you_

Thorin ground his hips down, slow and deliberate. It was _intoxicating_, his mouth feeling agape on his shoulder, his nerves on absolute fire.

Bilbo was getting only glimpses of Thorin through his own haze, of the warmth there, through all their wild hair splayed out between their heads, his own cheeks flushed and his own gasps and groans filling the space between them like a filthy mantra. A deep reverberation that's filling his chest and growing between his thighs, Bilbos legs shaky and weak, his desperation growing as his ability to hang on was quickly diminishing if they kept this up.

"_amrâlimê - Bilbo,_" there were hands against the hobbits burning cheeks, a warm mouth pressing against his mouth agape, "_mamamshul-‘ibinê, please, I-_" Thorins voice cracked, breathy, brushing his nose against the hobbits to look at him, eyes so full but Bilbos shut tight, brows knitted in pleasure where Thorin smothered another kiss. "_Darling, nûlukh'aban, Bilbo - look at me._"

His voice was like dragging gravel, rough and breathless and Bilbo did as he was told.

He saw sharp flushed cheeks, his corners of his eyes smoothed over and there was so much love in his face it was impossible not to close the distance.

Bilbo lost himself first, almost embarrassingly. He came with a sharp cry, his body jerking up, pressing harshly against Thorin with a shake, head falling back. Thorin chased that ecstasy and wasn't that far after, not with how hard Bilbo was pulling his hair and by Mahal his _sounds_-

They laid there, breathless, collasped, sticky, but warm. Thorin was a heavy weight on Bilbos chest; familiar as the seconds passed before Thorin pushed himself back to his elbows, looking at the hobbit beneath him with a sort of clarity Bilbo hadn't been expecting.

There was only an momentary worry, as if somehow Thorin had awoken from his curse to realize his misdeeds. Bilbo wasn't fully aware of it at the time, of course, as Thorin leaned his head down to press one last, firm kiss against his somewhat agape lips, that Thorin, in a way, did wake up. He saw it in the days where Thorin could be parted, and return after some time away, but always, _always_, found his way back.

Bilbo found, of course, that meant Thorin had been by no means possessed by this curse, or twisted by Dragon sickness. A curse made him more possessive, jealous, needy, but fundamentally changed nothing of Thorins regard; and since they cleaned themselves up, soft and comfortable, joining the world again, things got better.

In all ways, he's come to find.

Morning's being woken up to kisses on his cheek, his hair braided with beads he finally understands for the proclamation they were, or even further still, with ash along his face and hands, helping the dwarves clear the rest of the rubble from the entrance of the mines with Thorin several yards away and not minding him a bit.

It was almost funny, when Bilbo found a moment with Balin, asking why nobody ever bothered to say anything about Thorins behaviour. It was a bit of an embarrassing conversation when Balin admitted he believed Thorin had been spared of any affects; he hadn't considered Thorins behaviour strange either, only for Bilbo to realize it was very typical of Dwarves in the process of courting. It's an aggressive ordeal, possessive, and forward, and Balin admits in embarrassment any alternative hadn't come to mind.

None of it matters all that much now, he thought, twisting the bead in his hair rather idly.

Odd, Bilbo will think even later, what dragon sickness will do to the unfortunately obtuse when they're in the foolish process of falling in love.

**Author's Note:**

> the battle of five armies happens like a month from now but everyone lives and its pretty solid. I also couldn't come up with a good enough excuse for either of them to have lube so uhhh, maybe next time.
> 
> Furthermore if anything reads poorly hmu and I'll gladly fix any glaring mistakes I made. And Guess Who Hasn't Written A Sex Scene In Like 4 Years :^i it's me, the worst.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Khuz:  
amrâlimê - my love  
mamamshul-‘ibinê: My hoarded gem  
nûlukh'aban - My moonstone.


End file.
